McCarthy
by blazerrose
Summary: A story from Jack's past from a time he'd rather forget, told by someone he doesn't realize knows the tale.


I don't own the characters. I wish I did....

McCarthy

I think it was 1958. My dad and I took a trip to Chicago, just us guys. The second day we were there, not far from our hotel, I met this beat cop. He made me make up my mind, and I knew that's what I wanted to do with my life once I finished with the Army. The guy was huge, probably 6'2", stocky build – looked like a boxer. He had huge hands, and he ruled the streets. I watched him collar this kid for stealing something from a local store, like a bodega, and he literally collared him – grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off. The next day I asked if I could tag along. He gave me this stare that froze me in place and then he smiled and said, "sure, kid." I followed him around all day, and he showed me what to look for, how to talk to people to get what you want from them and only what you need, everything a good beat cop should know.

The 50's were a weird time. We were so afraid of Communism people were put away for even thinking about being sympathetic. This cop was given an order from his captain to go get this one guy who handed out leftist leaflets. Now Senator McCarthy had died the year before, but the fears he created still existed. My cop buddy arrested the guy, took him in for questioning, and after about two hours, realized he didn't have anything to actually keep him there on. So he let him go. The captain was pissed. My new friend squared up his shoulders and looked his superior straight in the eye, and in this thick Chicago/Irish accent, told him, "Cap'n, I can't break the law like that. I took an oath, sir. 'I am committed to protect the lives, property and rights of all people, to maintain order, and to enforce the law impartially.' What you asked me to do violates that. I canna' do that, sir." He stood at perfect attention and looked past his commanding officer to the shield on the wall behind him. My jaw dropped, that he would say that to his captain. The captain was an even bigger guy than he was, with a thick neck, and his face turned bright red, but then he calmed down and looked at something on his desk. All he said was, "Fine, then. Return to your beat. And take this kid with you." We left and I couldn't stop thinking what balls that took to stand up his captain like that. When we got outside, we stopped at a corner café to get some coffee. He told me, "If a man don't live his life on principle, what else has he got?" I couldn't think of anything.

He invited me to dinner at his house that night. It was small, but it had three stories if you count the basement. I heard the sound of kids playing in the street as we came around the corner, and I saw a group of about 7 boys playing baseball with a wad of duct tape and a broomstick. One of them was pretty good, and the cop nudged me in the elbow. "That's me oldest, Jack, there." He clapped really loud, and yelled, "Way to go, son!" at him. The boy turned beet red and dug his right toe in the dust of the street before tugging at his jeans and getting back to the game. We went inside, and talked for hours about what it meant to be a cop, and how the city loves you because you're the good guy. His wife fixed a great corned beef and cabbage dinner for us, and took some upstairs. I guess there was another son who was sick that day. The boy from the game came inside, dusty and sweaty from playing all afternoon. His dad took one look at him and stood up. I saw the boy flinch, although he tried to hide it. "Get upstairs and clean yourself up. We've got company and you look a fright." The boy hung his head and took off up the steep steps of the old house. He couldn't have been more than 8 or 9, skinny kid, but tall for his age. I never saw him again the rest of the night.

So now you know the story I have about John McCoy, and my first meeting with his oldest son, Jack. I've never told Jack the story, 'cuz I know he's not real happy about his childhood, and the last thing he needs to know is that I knew of him back then. You hide in a city of 12 million people, the last thing you'll think you'll ever do is meet someone from your past from a different city.


End file.
